The King Is Dead
by PartyInTheNorth
Summary: AU- King Joffrey has died and the Starks are back in favour in King's Landing. Arya must go back to her old life, and leave Gendry behind- but for how long?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

'The King is dead! Long live the King!' went up a cry, and Gendry turned to the gates, to see three knights on horseback marching in. They bore banners with the Lannister lion. Gendry threw on a shirt and followed the crowds to gather around the knights.

'People of Harrenhal, we bear news from King's Landing,' announced the knight at the front, a pale-faced man with a strong jaw, 'King Joffrey has died of the influenza, and King Tommen has taken the throne!'

The people around him gasped, by Gendry remained stony-faced.

'Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell has been named Hand of the King,' he continued, and then brought up the chant again of, 'Long live the King!'

The crowd cheered back, and Gendry moved his mouth half-heartedly along. He didn't see what difference the new king would make: he was just another puppet for Cersei Lannister to fight her brothers over. But Robb as Hand of the King? That would change things. His eyes frantically searched the crowd for her, his heart pulsing madly but his head telling him he was being stupid, she was still too short for him to spot her amongst this crowd.

But he did. She was stood on some steps, only half a head above the sea of the crowd. Suddenly, she spotted him, and her eyes locked onto his. His heart stammered. There was pain in her eyes, and fear, but mainly a sense of triumph. Her brother was in power, her sister wouldn't have to marry the evil boy who had murdered their father. It was the best news she'd had in a while.

But then she seemed to remember something, and she turned and ran off, darting off through the crowds. He soon lost sight of her dusky little head but he pushed his way after her anyway, burrowing through the crowds to where he'd last seen her.

He searched for an hour, and then surrendered, and went back to his workshop, figuring she might come looking for him. Hoping, rather.

She didn't. He waited all day, and then half the night, but she didn't come.

...

Arya carried on with her duties in a frenzy. She'd always been careless, but now she was spilling drinks everywhere, and, two days after the announcement, the steward gave her the day off to gather herself. It was a punishment, but Arya used it to her advantage.

She sat on the battlements for hours, watching people scurry by, going about their business like the world hadn't ended already.

There was only one person who could help her. Gendry.

She ran down to his forge, as fast as her legs would carry her.

And there he was, standing over his worktop, the fire drawing a sheen of sweat out to make his bare chest glimmer in its angry light. He was hammering at something, his eyes cast down at his work. She stood in the doorway, watching him work, the muscles in his arms rippling with sheer power.

Finally, he looked up, and she blushed involuntarily. Arya Stark did her best never to be embarrassed. She shot her eyes back to him furiously.

'Hello,' he said, his voice just loud enough to carry across to her ears.

Then she was across the room, so near to his chest she could smell the fresh, bitter tang of his sweat, looking up to his face. Two faces, both shocked and lost.

'Hello,' he breathed, and threw his arms around her. She moved only a hair's breadth forward to press her face to his chest, his intense heat glowing through into her skin. Gendry tipped his head down a little and realised that she was so tall now that he could kiss her crown without moving away. He let his lips delicately brush her hair and then rested his chin on her head.

They stayed like that for longer than either of them could say. When finally she pulled away, Arya was frowning.

'What's the matter?' Gendry asked, in a soft voice.

She looked up at him, sadness in her eyes.

'They've started looking for me again,' she said, 'Robb wants me back so he's sending out search parties everywhere.'

Gendry said nothing, but the fear had planted itself in his head.

'I don't want to leave,' she said.

He tightened his jaw and stepped away a little, picking up his shirt to wipe the sweat sheen off his face.

'You'd be safe in King's Landing,' he said, voice quiet.

Arya wanted to scream at him, scratch his skin, slap his face. Why was he being so stupid? He wanted to send her away, to be a lady and be smothered by Sansa and her boring friends, just like back in Winterfell. He was distancing himself from her, throwing her away, damn him. She wanted him to fight for her, argue with her, make her stay. She wanted their fiery friendship to go on forever, in a beautiful, grubby limbo.

'Goodbye then, Gendry,' she said, rage bubbling under the surface. She turned to storm out, but he caught her hand just in time. She span back. 'What?'

'Goodbye, Arya,' he answered, his voice cracking, 'I'll always remember you.'

She shuddered, trying to hold in the sob that had thrown up in her chest, and tugged her hand away.

And with that, she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, she told Lord Tywin the truth, and he sent word right away to Robb.

'I knew there was something special about you, child,' he said, 'And I realise know that you have the North in you. You are truly Ned Stark's daughter.'

Robb himself came right away. Tywin took her out to meet her brother, and he made her wear a dress. She was uncomfortable and itchy, and embarrassed to be under the scrutinising views of all the people walking past, who had heard that Arya Stark had been found, and wanted to see the lady for themselves. They all looked a little disappointed to find a boyish waif in a too-big dress, pouting and looking miserable. Maybe they'd prefer Sansa, she thought, bitterly, beautiful Sansa with her glorious hair and slender figure and majestic dresses.

The sun peeked out from behind a cloud, and finally, Robb arrived, at the front of a dozen knights, all in shining armour and riding broad-backed chestnut horses. He was taller than when she'd last seen him, and older in the face. He dismounted as soon as he could, swinging his powerful legs down to the ground, and ran over to his little sister. Robb cared about as much about etiquette as Arya, and he embraced her tightly, lifting her a little off the ground with the strength of his lung-crushing hug. Arya was pleased to find that she came up above his elbow now, where she had always been knee-high to a grasshopper.

'Oh, Arya, I've missed you!' he cried, setting her back down.

Arya found, to her disbelief, that she was crying a little. She wiped away the tears with her sleeve, and wondered whether they had more to do with going home or leaving it.

'Lord Tywin,' said Robb, turning to Lannister with a carefree smile that didn't quite reach his troubled eyes, 'Thank you for taking care of my sister, and I have been charged with letting you know that Queen Cersei wants you to come to King's Landing as soon as possible.'

'Tell my daughter I will come soon,' replied Lannister, almost smirking. Arya wondered how he treated his daughter. He had been good enough to her, but Cersei was a very different person, and she couldn't imagine him being half as good a father as hers.

And then Arya was hoisted up onto the back of Robb's horse, and as they passed out of Harrenhal, she glanced back to see a blacksmith turning away.

…

WHEN she was lifted off the horse in King's Landing, the first person she saw was Sansa. They'd had their differences before, but now the sisters flew into each others' arms, embracing with the force of the summer hurricane and the arctic gale. Sansa pulled away and laughed.

'You smell, Arya!' she crowed.

Arya pouted, her brow furrowed. When she was angry, she still looked like a tiny child, still the same little girl who would throw temper tantrums when she wasn't allowed to train with the boys in Winterfell.

'I've been riding,' she said, annoyed.

Robb laughed, handing his reins to a stable boy and drawing his sisters under his arms. 'Sansa's only japing, Arya,' he chuckled.

Sansa spread her arm around Robb's back and clasped Arya's hand tightly. They walked slowly into the castle like that, and for once, under her brother's protective wing and with her sister clinging onto her for dear life, Arya felt home.

The three of them sat down around a table, and a maid brought in drinks at Sansa's request. She was raven-haired and graceful, and when she spoke, she sounded foreign.

'Arya, where have you been?' asked Sansa, still sounding shocked.

'When father… died, a kind man helped me escape,' she explained, 'But we got into trouble, and I was only rescued from death in Harrenhal by Tywin Lannister.' Not her death, of course, but Gendry's- and, in a way, that was worse.

'And you have served him ever since,' completed Robb, 'It's strange to think that you were there all along, Arya, and none of us even knew.'

'It wasn't safe to tell anyone who I was,' she stated.

They stayed silent, Robb and Sansa both studying their little sister to see what had changed. There was so much. She was taller and more of a lady, though the rash little Northern girl was still plastered over her face and manners. There was some pain in her eyes now, though, that hadn't been there the last time they saw her.

'Where are the others?' Arya asked, meaning the rest of their shattered and scattered family.

'Mother went to Winterfell to be with Bran and Rickon, and Jon is riding South as we speak,' Robb answered.

'Jon has left the Wall?' asked Arya. She was a little disappointed, in truth. When she was little, she had thought all good people kept to their oaths, but she had since learnt that men rarely kept their promises. Why should Jon be any different? She had just hoped that he might be.

'He left the Wall a long time ago- he went to the other side- but they are glad to let him go this time,' replied Robb, 'Jon will be my captain of the guards once he arrives.'

Arya smiled, a little proud of her favourite brother.

…

JON arrived two days later, exhausted but still with enough energy to snatch up Arya in his arms. Arya had to stop herself from crying. _What's wrong with me? _she thought, _I'm going soft._

He still smelt and whispered of the North, of home, of snow and gales, of toasty fires and long nights.

'Oh, Arya, I've missed you!' Jon laughed, holding her at arm's length and studying her. She was taller than he remembered, and prettier, but he had been proud of his little sister when she was nine and he was prouder now.

That night, this small pack of Starks sat around a table and Arya surveyed them. Robb was weary-looking, unshaven and tired-eyed; Sansa was gaunt and her pretty Tully eyes bore the burden of years of terror; and Jon was just a little wiser. They were hardly recognisable as the flushed-cheeked children who had shared laughter and tears in Winterfell, all those years ago.

Arya lay in bed that night but she couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned for hours until finally she couldn't take it anymore. She went to Jon's room and knocked lightly on the door. A minute passed, and she let out a little sob. Jon was asleep, Gendry was miles away, and there was no one left to make her feel better.

But then Jon pulled open the door, rubbing his eyes, shirtless. He was nearly as muscular as Gendry, but paler and- her brother. Arya let out a little squealy noise and averted her eyes to the doorframe. Jon laughed drowsily, a grumbling, throaty noise. It didn't sound very natural. Maybe he hadn't found much humour up at the Wall.

'Why aren't you asleep, Arya?' he asked, walking back into his room to grab a tunic, which he threw over his head.

'I can't stop thinking,' she said, sounding annoyed, like it was an inconvenience.

'What were you thinking about, little sister?' Jon nudged her.

'Home,' she sighed.

It was almost true. She had no home now, or at least was struggling to figure out where it was. There was Winterfell, where she had been born, but it was too far away now and she hadn't been there for years. She supposed it might be wherever her family were, but they were mostly here and yet King's Landing didn't feel like home to her, not in the slightest. What about the bastard blacksmith, with his coal hair? Since her father's death, Gendry had been home for her- the only person who treated her kindly, looked out for her through thick and thin, made her laugh and feel safe.

But he was far away, and probably forgetting about her already, so she cuddled in to Jon's embrace and thought that maybe this wasn't home, but it was somewhere happy, where she could stay for a while.


	3. Chapter 3

Four years passed in boredom, courtly life chugging along like it always had, stifling Arya with its monotony and the timid, well-fed life making her beautiful. Arya had become a beauty at sixteen: slender and sprightly, with a boyish figure which didn't really make the boys chase after her. They all had eyes for Sansa, stiff and angry-eyed as she was, but Sansa ignored them- her heart already blown to pieces. Instead, they doted on Arya. She was scrawny, but she had a dark, wild beauty to her that was undeniable.

Arya kept trying to get more involved in courtly life, but her Robb wouldn't let her. It wasn't seemly, he said, and they had to stay on the right side of this king, like they hadn't with the last.

Thankfully, they didn't make her follow the womanly pursuits which Sansa found strange solace in, and Arya was allowed to continue with her swordfighting. She didn't have many other hobbies, but she was teaching herself Braavosi from a book she had found, and she loved to secretly sneak out into the city.

One morning, she was eating lunch with Jon in their chambers when there came a knock at the door.

'Enter!' called Jon in a powerful voice.

The door opened, and Arya threw back her chair and stood abruptly. Jon stood too, not recognising the heavy-set, coal-haired man at the door but judging by his sister's reaction that he was either dangerous or important.

'Gendry? What are you doing here?' Burst out Arya, and Jon stared at her. He was used to his sister's impulsive behaviour, but there was a different note in her voice, something almost possessive.

'I came to find your brother, Lord Robb,' he said, in a tone which spoke of repressed passion, 'I wish to fight for him.'

'But you're just a blacksmith, Gendry,' Arya spat out. Jon watched on, utterly bemused. He'd never set eyes on this man before, but Arya seemed to know him intimately. He looked of common birth, but his eyes looked at her comfortably, like they belonged on her. Jon was a bastard himself, he wasn't going to judge the man.

'I'm trained as a knight now, milady,' he answered, boldly meeting her eyes.

Jon stepped forward, breaking their intense glare, 'Good day, Ser…?'

'Gendry Waters, my lord,' the man replied, in a subservient voice.

'I am Jon Snow, Lord Stark's captain of the guards,' he replied, giving a slight smile to Gendry, 'I'm sure I could put in a good word for you with my brother.'

'Thank you, Lord Snow,' said Gendry.

'Jon, will you leave us a minute?' Said Arya gently, turning to her half-brother with cavernous dark eyes.

'Of course, Arya,' he answered, glancing wryly at Gendry, 'I'll be with Robb.'

He left, and the pair of them stared at each other in silence for a long minute.

Finally, Arya spoke.

'Three years, Gendry!'

Her voice was hollow, and it echoed around his head in the next silence.

'I missed you, Arya,' he said.

'As I you,' she answered, and Gendry wondered at how ladylike she was now. She was leaner and more elegant, and her hair was longer, braided neatly for once. And how she spoke! There was hardly a sign of the Northern Boy she used to be.

'You're a real lady now, Arya,' he commented. For once, she didn't bite back, just took on a dark look in her eyes and a deep breath.

'It's all a mask, I promise,' she replied, a little hurt, 'I'm still the same person.'

Gendry didn't answer. He was a little disappointed, in all honesty. A part of him was hoping that she'd still be the same clumsy, impulsive tomboy, but he realised now that that dream had been unreasonable. People changed, especially teenaged girls, and it was cruel to hope that she would still be the same person. Maybe this new Arya, this ethereal, beautiful young lady, would even be better than her tiny self.

'If you don't mind, Ser Gendry,' she pronounced neatly, 'I have to go to court.'

He sighed. 'Of course, milady.'

She turned to the door, and was almost out of the room when she peeked back at him. 'And don't call me Milady.'


	4. Chapter 4

Arya sat on her bed and cried. She had never been one for tears, but now they came fast like a glacier melting in the onset of spring. Her father was gone, her mother hundreds of miles away, and she was scared. Arya Stark was scared. The terror of the past few years had caught up with her when she saw Gendry, and she remembered the convulsing fear that she had suppressed from the day Yoren made her a boy, right up until that moment when her old friend had appeared.

'My lady, I have brought you some dinner as you did not eat earlier,' said the foreign maid, pushing open the door. There was curiosity in her voice, but Arya was tempted to interpret it as concern rather than rudeness.

'What's your name?' asked Arya, taking a seat at the table by the window where the maid set down the tray of food.

'Shae, my lady,' said the maid. She spoke with the servitude of other maids, but her voice had a hint of the fire underneath, the sharp intelligence behind those pretty, almond-shaped eyes.

'Do you know heartache, Shae?' said Arya.

'Of course, my lady,' the maid replied, 'There are few who do not, these days.'

Shae had taken the initiative and sat down opposite Arya. The maid stared, unabashed, at the lady, as uncaring as Arya about the strict etiquette of King's Landing.

'Shae, how do you make a man love you?' asked Arya, with a slight blush on her cheeks.

'Give him something he can't live without,' answered Shae after a moment's hesitation.

Arya smiled thoughtfully at the maid, and Shae winked.

…

The very next morning, before the sun had even risen, Arya decided she couldn't wait any longer and she threw on her trousers and a thick tunic. She ran down, out of the palace- waving to a guard she was friends with- and into the streets. Gendry had mentioned the inn he was staying in, and she knew where it was, but it still took a moment's pause to gather the courage to knock on the door.

A haggard woman answered the door, with a knife in her hand.

'We're full,' she spat, with few teeth. She looked Arya up and down for a minute, 'Milady.'

'I've come to see one of your guests,' she said.

'No visitors,' the woman croaked.

'It's important,' replied Arya, feeling a tiny bit frenzied. She had to see Gendry. _Had _to. She'd come this far already.

'Well, I might be willing to…' the old crone smiled a toothy grin and winked, '_Bend _the rules… for the right price.'

Arya sighed, and fished a coin out of the pocket of her trousers. She placed it in the innkeeper's crooked hand. 'Gendry Waters?'

The woman frowned. 'No one by that name 'ere, milady.'

'Are you sure? He's a knight, young, black hair?' _Ocean eyes, ruggedly strong arms, a smile that makes your brain go dizzy._

'No one like that here, my dear,' said the innkeeper, squinting at Arya, ''Ere, don't I know you?'

'No, I don't think so,' said Arya. She would get in trouble with Sansa if she was recognised creeping around inns in the wee hours of the morning.

She turned away, confused and a little angry. He had lied to her. Gendry had lied to her! There had not been any secrets between them since he found out she was a girl!

Well, that wasn't true. Arya had kept a barrage of secrets from him, but Gendry was honest and good- it was what made her stick with him through all the troubles they had faced. To discover that he had lied felt like a terrible betrayal.

And where could he be, if not where he said? Where would a travelling knight lodge, a knight who had denied a place with his master's company? There were any number of inns in King's Landing. Where could she start? She tried two more, near the palace, to no avail, and then slumped down by a wall. She had run out of coppers to bribe innkeepers with, and she was running out of time before she was missed back at breakfast.

It was cold in the shadowy street and she longed for a fire. Gendry's fire, where he toiled furiously at the metal in his workshop.

It struck her then. It was a long shot, certainly, but maybe he could have gone back to the old blacksmith. His old master might have found a bed for his ex-apprentice- maybe for a fee, but why not? Suddenly she was running, with no way to tame the passions in her chest. She was running for the stifling smithy's he had sometimes described to her, with only a vague idea of where it was.

Her cat-like sense of home served her well, and she was there, on the threshold, before she knew it. She thought about knocking, but it was one thing waking an innkeeper at five in the morning, and quite another disturbing an angry blacksmith for, if her hunch was wrong, no reason.

She tested the door with trembling fingers. It was open. Laying a palm flat, she pushed the door steadily open, slowly enough to stop it from creaking.

Her eyes gradually accustomed to the dull light from the tiny window and the drowsy embers of the fire, and she saw him.

He was lying on his back on the narrow bed, an arm dangling down to the floor. She nearly cried out, but for noticing that the bed was being shared, top and tail, with a younger boy, presumably his replacement.

She crept over to the bed and watched his sleeping face, uncreased brow under mussed-up hair; lips lazily parted.

Her fingers hovered like a hummingbird over his broad cheek, wondering whether to land there, whether it would disturb him, whether it would upset him. Was it too close?

She shied away, and shook his shoulder instead. It was hot, sticky skin, but it was his, and it buzzed under her fingers when the two met.

His eyes dragged open gently, and he gazed at her face drowsily for a few seconds. She felt flustered, his eyes on her skin, wondering if she was pretty enough, or still a boy in his eyes.

'What are you doing here?' he asked, sleepily.

'I could ask you the same,' she said, her voice cutting the haze like steel, 'Why did you lie to me and say you were staying at an inn?'

'I didn't lie to you,' he murmured, 'I was staying there but I ran out of money and I was ashamed to go to your brothers… So I came back here.' Arya smiled. He hadn't lied to her after all. It was a simple explanation, and she was still tired enough to be satisfied by it. Gendry was stubborn, the same as her. She couldn't imagine him ever going to anyone for help. She couldn't help but wonder what he'd spent all his money on, though. Knights were not badly paid, so he had to have been squandering his money somehow. If it were any other man, she would assume it was spent on whores and beer, but Gendry… To think of him with whores tore her heart apart.

But he wasn't with one now. He was staring adoringly at her, like she was a figure from a dream, and his hand came to her cheek, warm and rough.

It rested there a moment, but then dropped to his own face, rubbing it anxiously.

'Oh, Arya,' he sighed, 'I'm so tired.'

And then his eyes fluttered shut, and he was asleep again.

She stood, looking at his perfect rest, for a minute longer. She wondered if she would just be a dream to him in the morning.

She slipped out of the door and was back in her bed in the palace before her maid even refreshed the water.


	5. Chapter 5

'I want to go, it's important to me,' whined Arya.

'It's a council meeting, only men are allowed,' explained Robb, laying a hand on his sister's shoulder.

'Queen Cersei is not a man,' she pointed out.

'Queen Cersei is a queen,' replied Robb, with kind eyes, 'I'll see you this evening.' He turned around and left, closing the door softly behind him.

'But I am a Stark of Winterfell,' shouted Arya to his fading shadow, 'I deserve to have my say in whether I become a Princess of the North or not!'

Whilst her furious voice still rang off the walls, there were three raps on the door: short, tense knocks with a hollow resonance.

'Enter,' she replied, feeling regal even if her brothers didn't win a crown.

'My lady,' said the knight who opened the door, sounding a little surprised, 'I was expecting Lord Robb.'

'He's just gone,' she said, sounding a little petulant. Even though there was no-one else there, she would treat Gendry like any of her brother's knights.

'Yes, to the council,' continued Gendry, a slight smile in his eyes, 'To decide if Arya Stark of Winterfell becomes a Princess of the North or not.'

He'd heard her yelling, then. Arya was embarrassed, but too stubborn to admit her folly. She sat down at the table, and pulled over a book Jon had left open, a history of the Free Cities.

'Milady Stark?' he said.

'You're still here?' she said, cuttingly.

He didn't give any audible clue, but she knew him well enough to know that she'd hurt him.

'I think we should talk,' he said gently.

'It would be improper,' stated Arya.

'Since when do you care about what's proper?' he cried, real hurt in his voice.

'Since you left me and I had to fend for myself,' she shot back, throwing her chair back and standing with her back to him.

'I wasn't the one who left,' he said, bitterly.

There was a silence, and then they both went to speak at once. Both stopped, but Gendry was the one to speak first.

'Do you remember back in Harrenhall, when they strapped me into that…' he shuddered, 'That chair?'

She turned around, her face just inches below his. She stopped for a moment to be gobsmacked by the intense blue of his eyes. He, in turn, was trapped in the vortex of her dark eyes, like cavernous holes. She nodded slightly.

'I thought…' he whispered, 'I thought I was going to die.' Arya whimpered, ever so slightly.

'So did I,' she murmured, 'It was the most awful minute of my life.'

'But the thing is, Arya,' he continued, his eyes fervent with the horror and passion of the lives they had passed, together and apart, 'All the while, instead of panicking, all I could think of was you.'

She breathed heavily, not knowing what to say- and not trusting her voice to manage it.

'But I wasn't worrying about you- I know you can protect yourself, and you don't need me- instead, I was wondering what could have been. I wished I could have spent more time with you- happier, more peaceful time. I wanted to see you grow older, become the brave, brilliant, beautiful woman I hoped you would be. And above all, I needed to love you.'

He gently put a hand up to her cheek, his calloused fingers tracing tiny circles on her skin. She closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling, and then reopened them to speak.

'Do you still want to love me?' she whispered.

He replied with another question. 'The other night, when you came to the forge, that wasn't a dream, was it?'

Arya froze. She thought he'd been so sleepy that he'd assume it was a dream. She was ashamed. Gendry was a man, a knight, and she was a lady- whether she liked it or not. She shouldn't be sneaking into men's bedrooms at night.

She shook herself. She was being stupid. This was _Gendry_? What did she care about propriety with Gendry? She was only embarrassed because… well, because she had acted differently. Normally, she would have jumped on him, woken him up, teased him. But she hadn't. She had been gentle, caring… almost… loving.

'It wasn't a dream,' she murmured.

'Then… yes, I still want to love you,' he breathed, his voice a deep rumble. He grasped her shoulder with his free hand, the fingers on her cheek tensing, pinching strings of short, dark hair… and kissed her.

His caresses were gentle, despite his rough lips, and he was almost treating her like she was fragile, a breakable doll. Arya took offence at that. She pushed herself up onto her tiptoes, forcing herself closer to him, and bit his lower lip, tugging it back and then diving her tongue into his ajar mouth. She explored his teeth, at first curious and then increasingly needy, hungry, desperate. Her fingers worked furiously, pawing their way under his shirt and tiptoeing up his richly defined chest.

Gendry pulled away for a second to take a gasping breath, and then he moved to lift her up, her knees locked around his hips, a hand under each of her thighs, bringing her up to his eyeline. Her fingers ripped through the buttons of his shirt and she pressed her palms flat against his muscles.

She looked into his piercing blue eyes and grinned, her face vibrant with joy.

'I love you too,' she said, and kissed him again.

The King was dead, but the kingdom lived on.


End file.
